


All my love, Daisy

by clickingkeyboards



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Letters, Sorry Flo, Sorry Ida, War, World War II, the discord made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: Daisy writes to Felix all throughout the war: while he is stationed in Berlin on a mission, she delivers news of injuries and shelling, kidnappings and Nazi spies, engagements and dates.The letters stop coming after one received in late January, suspiciously coinciding with when Felix wrote that he was going to attempt further infiltration of the Nazi party.Daisy does not know how to worry for somebody who she believes could conquer the world.Please say that you haven’t died. Just reply and tell me that I’m being silly and dramatic, that’s all I need.
Relationships: Daisy Wells & Felix Mountfitchet
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	All my love, Daisy

Tuesday 28th November 1939

Dear Uncle Felix,

It’s dreadfully exciting here in France! It’s such a pity that you’re stuck so far away in Germany, I would love to come and surprise you in disguise, show you just how wonderful I am as a spy. You’d absolutely hate how unlike myself I like, but luckily I am wearing wigs instead of dying my hair. I still look hideously like you. 

Is the Nazi party truly revolting from the inside like the papers say, or is that just hopeful speculation?

I’ll let you know when I hear from Bertie, but his regiment is nowhere near me. It’s jolly good that he’s stationed with Harold, and far away from the convicts corps., because that could have turned out badly if so. 

Hazel sent a postcard from Bletchley, she and George are doing fantastically. I’ve enclosed it.

I’ll write when I’ve discovered more about the Nazi spies on my end, let me know how it is in Germany. It must be dreadfully dystopian across the border!

All my irritating love,  
Daisy

* * *

Friday 1st December 1939

Dear Incredibly Annoying Uncle,

I can’t believe that! Military parades? All dreadfully Soviet, isn’t it? I wish I was there, it seems so much more interesting that France.

I’ve enclosed a copy of my report of this week, it’s got incredibly exciting all of a sudden. THREE SPIES, Uncle F! I can hardly believe it! Hazel called me a genius, even though she’s the one deciphering Nazi papers. 

Bertie wrote to me. He says that he and Harold are keeping their spirits up as best they can with drink and books, and that they advance to the front tomorrow. They’re currently camping out in what remains of a post office in what used to be a lovely little village that was flattened by the Germans before the previous regiment pushed them back. All he can hope is that they aren’t found out and shot at dawn.

Hazel says hello again! She’s written me rather a lot of what you would refer to as ‘best friend’s waffle’ but the gist of it is that her and George were on the team that those papers that were discovered a few weeks ago, and they’re hoping to launch a counter-mission. 

They say a spy drop failed in Hagley but I don’t know a great deal about it, infuriatingly. I’ll tell you if I hear any more.

I’m hoping for us all having Christmas together, but Chinese New Year is looking more likely.

Love,  
Your glorious menace of a niece

* * *

Thursday 7th December 1939

Dear Uncle Definitely-Not-A-Spy,

More non-news, I’m afraid. I’ve been playing it safe and pretending to join this spy ring in order to oust all the bastards at once, so I’m staying in a dingy hostel on a trip to this weird meeting as a show of my loyalty to their terrifying cause, and it’s freezing.

They’ve all been talking about loyalty to Herr Hitler and how a beautiful British Aryan will be so useful as an addition to their ranks. I’d only admit this to Hazel, Amina, Bertie, and you, but I’m scared witless if I’m telling the truth. They keep stroking my hair and pulling at my arms and asking if I want to ‘prove my loyalty’ to them in their rooms. I’m bearing up, of course, I always have.

Bletchley’s been a nightmare this week, I got Hazel’s letter before I left. I explained a couple of code words that inside knowledge was needed for, but there are a couple of words I didn’t know. I’ve enclosed them on another slip of paper, send your reply right to Hazel if you can. You’re right in the thick of it in Berlin, I should hope you know them or you’re a hopeless spy.

Alexander has almost finished up his mission, Hazel explained. I would have appreciated the knowledge first-hand but obviously spies can only share their locations with a select few people: in my case, you, Bertie and Hazel. It was a simple trial mission, just gathering intel as opposed to busting a spy ring, but it went brilliantly for his first mission and he will likely be signed onto a more complex one after his leave (which falls over Christmas, the lucky bastard). Against my better judgement, I’m rather begrudgingly proud of him. 

No answer from Bertie, I think they’re still settling at the front. I’ll let you know when he replies. Knowing him, he’ll injure himself in some stupid way, copping a blighty by shooting his foot or something idiotic like that.

All my definitely civilian love,  
Daisy

* * *

Monday 11th December 1939

Dear Uncle Idiot,

I cannot believe that you blurted out your real name to somebody who just so happened to be another British spy. That could have literally been the death of you if not for that one bit of dumb luck. I should tell Aunt Lucy.

I can’t believe that you found this Rhys person by complete accident. Tell him that your niece thinks you’re a moron.

That meeting from hell went flawlessly, which is only to be expected given that I was involved. It was absolutely terrifying but I did not give myself away at any point, and I managed to get my hands on the real names of everybody in the spy ring. I just need to get back to base without being caught, which shouldn’t be too hard. 

I really don’t like French spiders. The hostels I’ve stayed in are crawling with them.

All my love,  
A very disgusted pretend Nazi

* * *

Monday 25th December 1939 

Dear Uncle Felix,

Merry fucking Christmas.

I’ve never been more upset to not be in England. I want to see Hazel and you know that I don’t like change when I wasn’t expecting it. 

I got Christmas presents sent from the others, at least.

Apologies for my lack of letters. I did end up being caught, because some Nazis intercepted my reports back to MI6 and worked out where I was stationed. I managed to escape with all of my evidence but it was absolutely terrifying. I’m back in Paris now, sitting through discussion of trials for the Nazi spies that I caught. I’m utterly proud of that, Uncle F, I caught _fourteen_ spies and spies-to-be!

I can’t wait to hear what Amina is going to say. 

This Rhys fellow doesn’t sound too bad, goodness knows why he’s interested in somebody as dreary as you. Do keep me updated on what orders you get from base, this prospective mission sounds plenty exciting.

Hazel says that Bletchley is only giving them Christmas morning off, which I suppose is fair. She wrote to me on Christmas Eve, I’ll feed back her Christmas update in my next letter. Her present was lovely, a beautiful old-fashioned magnifying glass. Alexander got me a rather fabulous hat, I regrettably adore it. George sent me a parcel of British things, which I greatly appreciate. Bertie sent me a real German machine gun bullet that he and Harold found lodged in a sandbag after a volley of fire.

Thank you for the bed warmer. It’s the first time I’ve been warm for weeks.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Uncle F, here’s to the war ending in 1940.

All my love,  
Your Daisy

* * *

Tuesday 2nd January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

I’m so sorry you couldn’t get leave. Being back in Britain is such a relief, even if it’s only for two weeks. Aunt Lucy is about to go off to Russia, though you’re doubtless aware of that.

Hazel says I sound a bit German. George says that if I don’t start sounding British sharpish, they’ll hang me as a double agent. I threw a stapler at him in response. Don’t pull that face I know you’re pulling, I did it gently. 

I’m dancing around the main point: I saw Amina. She’s decided to stay on at university here, studying ancient history and correcting all the mistakes. I love her attitude to life so much. She screamed when she saw me, and she spun me around in a hug and we both cried. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see somebody in my life, though seeing Hazel again came close. Both of us cried then, too. 

Alexander took pictures both times, and they’re annoyingly decent.

I sent a box of British-ness akin to George’s for you and Rhys, I hope you damn appreciate it. It will arrive a week after this letter, if all goes to plan.

Have you had any word from Bertie since Christmas? I haven’t heard from him, and George hasn’t heard from Harold. I heard that some regiments on the front were moving around, that could have something to do with it all.

All my love,  
Daisy

* * *

Thursday 4th January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

I have no idea how to begin this. I know that myself and Aunt Lucy are the only people who know your location, and Aunt Lucy is off in Russia and so won’t have heard a thing.

Bertie was hit by a shell.

They have no idea whether or not he’ll live. Harold wrote to me and I’m so glad that I’m still in England for another two weeks, just to receive updates on his condition.

Harold says that the building Bertie’s half of the regiment was surveying collapsed from a shell impact, and Bertie bore the worst injuries that were not immediate fatalities. ‘It looks as if Kali himself has taken his teeth to Bertie’s head’ he wrote in his letter. Kali is their devil, Uncle Felix.

I’ll describe it as best I can. His skull was cracked in several places by the impact. He has been blinded in one eye entirely, he may even have to lose it if they can’t cure the infection from the shrapnel that made it behind his eye. He’ll likely never use his left hand again, it’s a ‘waiting game’ as to whether they amputate it. Harold has been asking every day for two weeks and the doctors change their minds every day. Luckily, he’ll be able to speak. His capacity for thought is up for debate, though. He has brain swelling, according to Harold, though I’m unsure what kind.

I’ll keep you updated. Harold promised to update me any time he hears something, even if that means multiple letters a day.

All my love,  
Bertie’s sister

* * *

Sunday 7th January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

I don’t know what strings you pulled to get a reply to me within two days but I am intensely grateful. It looks like I’m stuck in Britain until the end of January, they’re still sorting out the particulars of my next mission. At least I’ll be here to receive updates in Bertie’s condition, and I’m situated at Bletchley with Hazel and George until then, helping transfer their decoded Nazi information into plans that we can weaponise against the Germans. It is wonderful to work with Hazel again.

Thank you for your letter, really. It feels terribly emotional but I did need to hear that it’s not all my fault and that I cannot save the world. Hazel has been telling me so and she means all the world to me, but hearing it from you felt different. And I must reassure you that, whatever happens, you could not have prevented it. You’re doing just fine, even if you say daft things sometimes.

Harold wrote me another letter. Bertie cannot open his eyes yet, but he recognises Harold’s voice and squeezes his hand in response. Harold says that there is vague recognition when he talks about their relationship, and about you and I, even if it is slow and faint. He’s been restless with nightmares when he sleeps, which is most of the time. Shellshock, Harold reckons.

I’ll update you the second I hear something else.

All my love,  
Your niece

* * *

Wednesday 10th January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

Are you fucking kidding me? You could break the entire Nazi party wide open if you accept this mission! But it does sound dangerous, do think on it. Please take care if you do accept the offer to take that position in the Nazi party, and remember not to allow yourself to get brainwashed and lose all the damn values that make you good.

Harold wrote again. He says that Bertie can open his right eye but is unable to focus it because of the infection in his left eye. Given that dear Harold Mukherjee is not one to sugarcoat things, I know all the gory details. They’re trying to release pressure on his brain through an operation that Harold doesn’t quite understand, and they may have to amputate his hand if he doesn’t regain some use in it. He also kindly described exactly the damage to Bertie’s face: now that the blood and bruises have somewhat cleared away, he can discern what exactly has happened. On the left side of his face, it is almost as if it has caved in. His cheekbone has been shattered and fractured, which they are going to reconstruct once they decide what to do with his eye. His eye socket reportedly ‘caved in’ but his eye has survived and he should be able to open it once the infection is gone and some of the scar tissue is cut away. It apparently looks like something has taken an enormous bite out of his head.

Harold’s letter was heartbreaking, Uncle Felix. He said, ‘The right side is his face as I know it, bruised and bloodied but the features that I am so used to, and sometimes I wake up in the chair beside his bed and it’s as if nothing is wrong at all from my angle, and then it hits me all over again. That’s the worst part.’

He has been responding to Harold’s talks of their relationship and of us through squeezing his hand, which means that he has at least retained his memory.

Here’s hoping that operation will improve things.

All my love,  
Your niece. 

* * *

Saturday 13th January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

That’s excellent news! Do let me know when your position in the party takes effect (even though you’ll be the smallest cog in the vast machine of those Nazi monsters, you’ll be able to gather SO MUCH intelligence, I’m excited for you).

On another note, Harold sent a letter! It bears the all-too-scarce good news and I am so unbelievably relieved. Bertie isn’t out of the woods yet, but he’s getting better. He _spoke_ , Uncle Felix, he spoke to Harold! He managed Harold’s name, and, “It hurts,” and squeezed Harold’s hand before falling unconscious again. 

Nothing interesting to report from England, though I do have a date with Amina before I go off to France again.

All my love,  
Daisy

* * *

Thursday 18th January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

Your letters are coming so marvellously quickly, I cannot imagine the strings you must be pulling to send such short letters so fast! I’ll return the favour with some marvellous information. Apologies for my dreadful handwriting, we’ve run out of blotting paper.

Alexander and I left Bletchley shortly after I wrote my last letter, to come to London and hear what our missions will be. Mine is to be in Poland, which I’m dreadfully excited about. After we are issued with the particulars, which should be within the next week, we can go back to Bletchley and lend the codebreakers a hand with translating their cracked codes into plans for a counter-attack. Alexander is leaving on the 28th, and myself on the 31st.

I wish I could say that I’m surprised that I’m writing this but honestly, it’s about par for the course with our family. Alexander has bought an engagement ring. I don’t know how to describe jewellery — I’ve never really cared for it, personally, it doesn’t _do_ much other than sit there and look pretty. Then again, I like Bertie well enough and I suppose that’s all he does. Well, did. It’s very pretty, and the gem is not a diamond. I can’t remember for the life of me what it is, but I know that it’s one of those December birthstones, because December is the month in which they got together. Horrifically cheesy, isn’t it? Despite my better judgement, I think it’s rather sweet.

He wants to ask you for your formal blessing — he’s looking over my shoulder right now with a very judgemental look at what I’ve just written. He’s leaving for his next mission (which is in France) in ten days and wants to propose before then. As I’m not supposed to tell anyone where you are, I’ve enclosed his letter in with mine. It’s quite infuriatingly sweet, I can hardly stand it.

Harold wrote again. The operation went well, he says, as the swelling on Bertie’s brain has settled. He has been asleep since it happened, on Sunday. His letter arrived yesterday, and so that is at least three days of no response from Bertie other than stuttering breaths and touches to the back of Harold’s hand. He said that he would write again as soon as something different happened.

There are new worries on the horizon, however. This was not voiced to me, but to George instead, but I thought that you ought to know: Harold worries that he shall be shot as a deserter if he stays by Bertie’s bedside when the regiment moves to the front. After the shelling, you see, they stayed back behind the lines and close to the hospital, waiting for new soldiers to come and replace the dead and injured — cheery, right? Well, those soldiers arrive rather soon, two weeks from now, and Harold can’t bear to leave Bertie’s side and will refuse unless he is recovered by then. If he stays back at the hospital, he will be shot at dawn as a deserter.

That’s another thing to worry about, in case the war in general isn’t enough.

I’m so glad that you have a few more days (from now, anyway) to prepare before the party instates you.

All my love,  
Daisy

* * *

Wednesday 24th January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

Sorry for my late reply, government officials love the sound of their own voices. I don’t think that I’ve sat through so many hours of unimportant drivel in my life. Alexander and I arrived back in Bletchley yesterday, and the codebreakers are furious with the government for their lack of appreciation for their work, and dismissal of their discoveries. George and Hazel explained to us that there were rumours of a strike, but they decided against it for the good of the war effort.

There are so many things to talk about that I can hardly keep up with them all, I have to jot down what I want to say to you in order to keep it all in order. First of all, our missions and that romance business: Alexander leaves on Sunday, as planned, taking the train to London in the early morning. He plans to propose later today — that’s a dreadfully grown-up sentence to write, isn’t it? — and George and I have been trying not to give Hazel pointed looks since about six this morning. Alexander thanks you for the blessing, by the way, he was absolutely giddy when I showed you his response. It was almost nice.

Harold wrote again. I think that I must have said that sentence a hundred times by now. Bertie has woken up and there is much more recognition there, and even failing speech! Instead of just responding to Harold’s words, he rasped out questions, asking after me, and you, and Hazel. I’ve never been so relieved in all my life to read words on a page, and I sound rather Hazel-ish saying that. Harold cried when Bertie started talking in such a determined way, and he wrote in his letter that he had to make sure that his tears didn’t fall where Bertie could feel them. He still can’t open his eyes.

The spy drop in Hagley that I mentioned so long ago has been utterly denied by all that the government can get hold of, which isn’t exactly the shock of the century.

I’ll add on a P.S. after tonight to let you know what Hazel said to Alexander, but I have to go and lend a hand with some decoded messages that nobody can make any sense of. They want the expertise of somebody who has been around members of the Nazi party, which makes me the most desirable candidate.

All my love,  
Daisy

P.S.: It was disgustingly romantic, in the grounds and lit by moonlight. Hazel said yes. Alexander cried, and so did she. I’ve enclosed a picture that George took, with a camera intended strictly for government work.

* * *

Saturday 27th January 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

I’ll tell Hazel what you said! She’s going to be so pleased.

That sounds like a fantastic opportunity to bust open the Nazi plans but don’t put yourself in danger. I don’t think that I could cope if you were hurt or worse, and I do not say that lightly. Don’t do anything that Aunt Lucy wouldn’t.

Speaking of, tell Aunt Lucy that I think what she’s done is absolutely wonderful. You two really are made for each other.

I have a very comprehensive update on Bertie’s health, courtesy of our dear Harold Mukherjee. They’ve decided not to amputate Bertie’s left arm, as he has some mobility in it. The infection in his left eye cleared up with medicine and they’ve taught Harold how to clean and care for it. He’s blinded in his left eye, but can open the right now. He’s sitting up and asking questions until his throat bleeds, Harold said. He’s smiling and laughing, if still having awful night terrors, and he’ll likely be back in England within the month. Harold procured a camera off an officer and took the picture that I’ve enclosed, of himself and Bertie. Keep it close, won’t you?

Harold is begrudgingly agreeing to go to the front when their regiment moves, which means we don’t have to worry about him being shot for desertion. Small mercies.

Alexander leaves tomorrow, and I leave soon after. I’ve written my new address on an envelope for you, and I’ve added some stamps for good measure.

All my love,  
Your niece, Daisy

* * *

Wednesday 7th February 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

I’m so sorry that I didn’t get a chance to write sooner, it’s been hideously hectic. I had my date with Amina before I left, which was wonderful, and I gave Hazel an enormous hug goodbye from all of us.

I’ve been in Poland for a week now! It’s rather exciting, if depressing. The poor people here have been through far too much that they don’t deserve at all.

Have you written? If you have, I didn’t get your reply. The reports from Germany that I saw before I left didn’t look good. Remember to direct your letters to Poland, you silly thing. I’ll send a more comprehensive update when I know that you’re receiving my letters.

All my love,  
Your Daisy

* * *

Wednesday 21st February 1940

Dear Uncle Felix,

I’m getting dreadfully worried about you now. It’s been near to a month since I last heard from you.

Please say that you haven’t died. Just reply and tell me that I’m being silly and dramatic, that’s all I need.

All my love,  
Your Daisy

* * *

Tuesday 27th February 1940

Dear Daisy Wells,

I regret to inform you of the worst that you fear: your uncle has died, just as you deduced. He was killed in a battle with high-up Nazi officials who had found us out somehow. I will spare you the grisly details until you are ready but I want you to know that he was courageous until the end and that I know how much he adored you, your brother, your Hazel (?), and your aunt. 

His last words were, “I hope I can see Lucy again.”

Daisy Wells, I have heard so much about you it feels as though I know you simply through how much Felix talked about you. He was so proud of you, his brilliant and genius niece, who is more trouble than she’s worth and is going to change the world.

You were his beloved niece, Daisy, and he was always saying that he wanted you to know that you didn’t have to save the world, and that you had to learn that not everything was your fault. 

I believe that he would want this to apply here, for you to forgo blaming yourself and concentrate on grief without bearing the weight of the world’s sadness too. Your uncle was a daring and wonderful man who fought until the end and no action of yours could have turned him away from that goal.

I will battle all the red tape necessary to ensure that your uncle gets an English burial with full honours and yourself and your brother present pride of place.

Yours regretfully,

Rhys Jones


End file.
